The Heart Facing Mine
by Deathly Noted
Summary: In another life, maybe, To-Oh University was where Light and L first came face-to-face. Here and now, Wammy's House is their stage, their battleground. Things have changed... or have they? Will history simply repeat itself between them? LightxL.
1. First Impressions

Light was maddeningly, unbearably, irrepressibly bored. He had already taken inventory of his new room, and though he had supposedly been brought to Wammy's House for intellectual training, there was not a single book, worksheet, puzzle, or even newspaper in the vicinity. All he had to his name was a wardrobe of new clothes, a handful of toiletries, and some office supplies — and the 'to his name' part was debatable, because he was now living under an alias. Why Wammy's House did not trust him with anything more stimulating than a pair of safety scissors, Light was not entirely sure, but he found it rather insulting, along with the fact that they had locked him inside for the night. His environment was being so carefully controlled, he couldn't help but come to the conclusion that the room itself was an intellectual test… or at least, that would be his excuse if he got caught breaking out.

Half-expecting an alarm to go off or something equally ludicrous, yet not quite inconceivable at this institution, Light began the likely arduous task of breaking through the security system, yet surprisingly, disappointingly, he was able to hack the control panel on the door with little effort. Whoever programmed it was decidedly pathetic — but no matter. There were surely things of greater interest at Wammy's House than the security system, and in fact, Light already had a destination in mind. Mr. Wammy all but led him through the institution blindfolded, hurrying him to his quarters in the dead of night, but even so he caught a glimpse of hazy radiance streaming from beneath a closed door, drawing him in like a moth to the flame…

The coveted room turned out to be excessively mundane: an empty computer lab, lined with desks housing the machines on the left and right walls and the far wall comprised of one gargantuan computer screen. The only thing of note was the light source itself: a black-on-white emblem emanating from the screen of the computer nearest the door. 'L', it read, the gothic letter like the pupil of a great eye.

Light reached out to disturb the mouse, warily, as if the device would live up to its namesake and bite him, but a mere inch from making contact, a hand closed around his wrist from behind. Surprise widened his eyes, but he refused to flinch or cry out or even turn around for the sake of his pride, and the 'L' remained on the screen, staring at him.

"What are you doing in here?" drawled a voice so cold that the warm breath on Light's neck gave him chills.

"The door was unlocked," Light replied obliquely, and he felt the fingers around his wrist tighten, as if his statement had proved him untrustworthy and suspect to making escape attempts. Although the action insulted him, although everything about this person had his body screaming in revulsion, Light pasted his most charming smile on his face as he prepared to turn around.

"I—" Light began, but the next moment a splitting pain shot through his neck. A wreckage of black-and-white swirled before his eyes, like a chessboard knocked to the floor in a rage; black, then, won the game.

* * *

Light woke up in his new bed with an aching neck, the only indication that last night hadn't been the fabrication of an exhausted sleep. 

What the _hell_ was that all about, anyway? That man…

Light's sour mood was reflected in his choice of clothing for the day more so than in the typically meticulous way he went about his morning routine. In the case of first impressions, he would have usually opted for a popular, calming color like blue or classic white, but today he reached straight for the blacks in his wardrobe. When he returned to his bed and stretched out across the white sheets, he looked somewhat like an inkblot, one that could be interpreted as tiredness or grief or anything Light wanted to be seen.

In truth, he was growing bored and was thus contemplating a mental list of pros-and-cons about escaping the confines of his room at an untempting distance from the door. Pro: There might actually be something to do outside his room. Con: That psycho might still be wandering around outside his room.

It was a difficult decision, but one he did not ultimately have to make, for the door to his room opened of its own accord.

"Good morning, Mr. Wammy," Light said, rising from the bed and taking a step forward, but he moved no closer when he noticed the stern expression on the elderly gentleman's face.

"Your security has been enhanced."

"Oh, okay." Outwardly, he sounded utterly unaffected, but inwardly his response was more along the lines of, _Damn it._

"I'm disappointed that you betrayed my trust, but… you have certainly proven your intellect." Mr. Wammy's fatherly smile probably had the opposite of the intended effect on Light. "Come on, then. I'll escort you to class."

* * *

Light had yet to solve the mystery of how this could be defined as "class" in any sense of the word. He had been left with minimal explanation in a large lounge of sorts, littered with couches and armchairs, electronics and board games, papers and candy wrappers, and the only person to be therein found was an albinic boy in white pajamas, piecing together an equally achromatic puzzle on the floor. 

"Hello," Light greeted with his usual charisma, but all he received in return was a minute downturn of the chin, perhaps a nod of acknowledgement or perhaps a gesture of shunning — this one was difficult to read. Regardless, he _would_ get his answers. "My name is Light."

"…Near." Without any vocal cues in that singular word, it took Light, whose second language was English, a moment to process that 'Near' was in fact his alias.

"Nice to meet you, Near." He smiled, though the gesture was probably lost on the child below him, focused as he was on the final stage of his puzzle. As the last pieces came together, a black gothic letter emerged in the corner, though it vanished from sight the very next moment when Near flipped the board over, scattering puzzle pieces all over the floor. With carefully casual inflection, Light probed, "What is 'L'?"

Near looked up then, blatantly eyeing him. "You don't know about L?"

"No, nothing," Light lied.

Near picked up a puzzle piece charred black at the edge and examined it closely, as if it were a crystal ball containing his next words: "L is the world's top detective, and someday, one of the Wammy Elite will become the next L. Most likely, that person will be—"

"_Me._"

"—Me," Near concluded, a slight hardening in his already cold coal-black eyes as he began to piece together his puzzle anew the only indication that he had even heard the interruption.

Light raised his head to find that two boys had entered the room. The first was a walking paradox in harsh black leather and delicate rosary beads, the effeminate length of his hair belying its jagged cut, smirking cockily even as a hand shot out to steady the redhead beside him who had stumbled over a cable on the floor.

"Thanks," mumbled the redhead, ever unfaltering in the button sequences on his handheld, until a few moments later he exclaimed, "Booyaka!" and pocketed the device in his sleeveless hoodie, cerulean eyes locking onto Light's instantly, placidly, as if he had actually been aware of his surroundings the whole time. "Did we come to n00b 101 by mistake? Who're you?"

From all of this, Light surmised that Near and the blond were rivals, the blond and the redhead were friends, and the redhead had tripped on purpose, though Light couldn't find any solid reason for the action. There were infinite possibilities: an effort to mislead Light and/or the others about his personality, a ploy for attention and subsets thereof such as creating a diversion — just for the hell of it. Ultimately, Light was unable to determine much about the redhead compared to the visually expressive blond or even the ironically distant Near, and he responded with according neutrality, "Light. We're classmates now, it seems."

"Hm. I'm Matt, AKA mutton-strudel-tea, and this is Mello, AKA marshmallow," was the redhead's borderline nonsensical yet blandly spoken introduction, the mention of the blond's name seeming to snap his attention away from the white collage on the floor to the conversation going on. Light was thus found on the receiving end of embers sparking up from the flames of rivalry, and needless to say, he was none too pleased with the holes burned in his façade when Mello accused him of being a liar.

The censure lingered in Mello's glare, in Near's and Matt's open stares, yet Light refused to grant the vultures a glimpse of the man behind the mask. His expression was untouched, not even a hint of his irritation making its way into his inflection when he asked, "Why do you say that?"

Triumph came in a symphony of Near returning his gaze to the floor, Matt glancing at Mello, and Mello becoming even more even more argumentative, "You're too _old_," only to be interrupted with, "That's rather prideful and prejudiced, don't you think, Mello? He looks about our age, and the more the merrier, I say!"

"Shut up, Linda," Mello snapped without a backward glance. "You can shove Pride and Prejudice up your shirt to fill out your utterly flat chest."

Of the two girls who had come into the room, the one covering her breasts with a mortified expression, then, was Linda. The one who had abandoned the center of conflict in order to pick up trash and tidy the room, almost giving a glimpse up her vintage cocktail dress whenever she bent over, was probably not going to introduce herself or be introduced anytime soon. Mello's assault mercilessly continued, albeit strewn with useful information.

"You know that's not what I meant. We all grew up here. He doesn't belong. He's a… a…"

"A virus in the system," Matt supplied helpfully.

"You two are such bullies!" Linda exclaimed, knocking into both Mello and Matt as she maneuvered through them to hook an arm through Light's. "Let's have a seat together…" She paused expectantly.

"Light."

"Another 'L'! How cool is that? You'll probably be grouped with Lawliet and I."

"Where the fuck is Lawliet?" Mello groused. His rage was apparently easily diverted from person to person.

"Let's start without him. I'm bored," Matt suggested.

"You're always bored."

As the group gathered at a table in the center of the room and Linda explained that they were going to take an anonymous ballot about their leader and activities for the day, Light began to get a sense that Wammy's House and the people it raised weren't exactly ordinary. Near was stacking ABC blocks into a structure with steeples and windows, Mello's head rested on Matt's shoulder as he observed the other handling two laptops simultaneously, and the girl as of yet unidentified continued to straighten papers and pens to exact right angles. No, compared to him, these people were definitely_ not_ normal.

"You can watch me vote, Light. I don't mind," Linda said, gesturing for him to lean in and observe her as she typed and input her suggestion into the device that was being passed around the table. It was for Light himself to lead a class on social etiquette, he noted with no small amount of satisfaction. Even in a foreign country, women were easy. "Your turn."

The mechanism looked rather strange, like the bastard child of every other handheld device, but it was easy enough to operate, much like his Nintendo DS had been. It only took him a moment to strategically nominate his best ally thus far, Linda, to lead a debate, which would get even the quieter people in the group talking and inadvertently revealing personal traits; then, he passed the appliance on to Matt, who read off the results.

"Okay, we have one vote for me. Matt-attack! and score. Also of note, one vote for Linda, two votes for Mello, and two votes for Light."

"What the _fuck_?" Mello's voice, which seemed to only have the tonal capacity for varying degrees of anger, was beginning to scrape against Light's senses. It was amazing to him that this person actually appeared to have a friend. "Who voted for him? He probably doesn't know our names yet, let alone how to lead our group." Light couldn't exactly argue with that, however. He still didn't know the name of the meticulous girl, and though he had heard the name 'Lawliet' mentioned, he had yet to meet him or her.

"That's true. I think you would be most fit to lead the group, Mello," Light said in an attempt to reverse the charge of the particle cloud building up between them. It was a negativity that wasn't quite tangible, a darkness that couldn't be seen, but it nevertheless had to be dealt with or it could unexpectedly smother him.

"Well, that goes without saying." The beast had been placated, enough so to boast, with the simplest of praise.

There was a moment's pause before Matt took up his recitation again. "Anyway, we have suggestions to practice torture methods, go swimming, draw, have a debate, imitate a hostage situation, and practice social etiquette."

Resting his chin in his hand, Light suppressed a frustrated sigh as Mello once again went off like a time bomb as Matt read the last item. This was going to be a long day… a long year.

"There is no way in hell we're 'practicing social etiquette', _Linda_. Go have a tea party with your teddy bears if you're on a Jane Austen kick."

"And 'practicing torture methods' is so much better?" In haughtiness, Linda was more than Mello's match. "You and Matt can practice in the privacy of your bedroom."

Mello recoiled from Matt tellingly, hissing, "That wasn't even my suggestion!"

"I'm_ oh-so_ sure," Linda said in singsong.

At this point, Light was almost considering stepping in and playing peacekeeper, a role he usually didn't bother with. This constant bickering was more grating than it was divulging, though it was admittedly a step above the arguments that had surrounded him back at his high school, consisting of exchanges such as, "You're an idiot!" and "You're a stupider idiot!" which were sadly accurate.

That was when the girl who had yet to speak finally spoke, though silently still — apparently, she was mute. Her hands moved with practiced fluidity, though her dress and curls stayed stiffly frozen in place by starch and by hairspray, forming signs that Light could barely interpret with his limited knowledge of Japanese Sign Language furthermore getting lost in translation. Something about the sun or happiness, that was all he knew for certain.

"I disagree." It was Near who responded first, his voice clipped and clear, though he hadn't even appeared to look at her. "I dislike going outside."

"Napé is absolutely right. It's the perfect day to go outside." There was a wicked glint in Mello's eye. "Isn't that right, Matt?"

"Well…" In that moment of suspended quietude, waiting for Matt to continue, the door latch clicked like a snapped twig and everyone turned to the sound, deer sensing a predator in the thicket.

The man who entered the room looked more like the prey-type, however, his eyes underlined insomnious and somehow innocent despite darkness upon darkness, the defeat of his posture folding his capacious clothing over and over to highlight the thinness of his figure.

"You're just in time, Lawliet!" Linda cried smilingly. If what had been implied about further alphabetical grouping within the class was true, Light too would be spending more time with this man. "Mello, Napé, and I want to go outside. Is that alright with you?"

"That is suitable to my tastes."

How wrong first impressions always were.

The up-and-down baritone of his voice… the angles of his thin wrists, the precise shade of his skin, on closer inspection… Lawliet, that was _him_, the man from last night.

Light's chin left his hand, his back straightening out as he rose to his full height like a snake preparing to strike. The venom was surely seeping into the color of his eyes, but Lawliet wouldn't look at him and take the bite. Perhaps that was for the best; he had his budding reputation to think of, in front of all these people.

Light purposefully lagged behind the group at Lawliet's languid stride when they left the lounge. It almost seemed like Lawliet was trying to get a glimpse up Napé's dress, with his shoulders slouched and his eyes so curiously wide, but Light could feel the focus in the corner of his eyes and knew he had been obliged when Lawliet trailed behind. They walked in silence for awhile, until Light was certain that their conversation would not be overheard, and then he made the first move.

"You attacked me last night," Light said in a verbal blur of offhanded and pointed, expecting his accusation to be denied, to be fed sugarcoated lies. He should have known from their encounter last night that this man was, if nothing else, unpredictable and infuriating.

"Do not be dramatic. I did not attack you. I subdued you, as was necessary," Lawliet replied, self-righteousness in his voice and words and eyes, in the quality of the sunlight that spilled over him when he stepped outside.

This man was the absolute worst.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter will hone in on Light and L's relationship and the main plot, so I hope you stick with me. Critique would be very much appreciated, especially on my characterizations. Oh, and don't panic about Napé, the OC — she's a plot device, not a romantic interest. 

Additional info...

Light is 17. I gave Mello his sexier, shaggier haircut because it's my AU and I'll do what I want to, but he doesn't have a scar because there was no explosion. Are you confused yet?

Booyaka! — Selphie's catchphrase in the video game Final Fantasy VIII.

Pride and Prejudice AKA First Impressions by Jane Austen — The titles are fairly self-explanatory. I thought it was a perfect thematic fit for this chapter, but also ironic in a canonical sense because L's instinct about Light being Kira was actually right.

"The Heart Facing Mine" is a phrase I heard that always stuck with me. I find it especially fitting for Light and L's relationship because you could interpret it both as "the heart mirroring mine" and "the heart opposing mine".

L Lawliet is L's true name. I used Lawliet and Light as aliases for the sake of convenience but also because their names have similar yet contrasting pronunciation: 'Low-light' versus 'Light'… hearts facing each other, names facing each other, get it? Oh, symbolism.


	2. The Bells

By the time Light and Lawliet arrived outdoors, the rest of the group had already dispersed. Linda, Napé, and Near were settling under an apple tree with sketchbooks and Mello was practically dragging Matt into the sunlight, basketball in hand.

"Tennis?" It sounded more like Lawliet was asking if the sport existed or questioning its validity than offering to play the game, his tone rolling and rising with some ubiquitous evenness to it.

"Sure." The dry little smile on Light's lips threatened to morph into a malicious smirk as soon as Lawliet turned his back, so Light too turned away, inadvertently meeting Near's gaze. Light loosed the full brilliance of his smile on the child, and maybe a trace of the smirk remained, or maybe Near was just sadistic, because he flipped around his sketchbook and, with a look Light couldn't interpret, showed off a depiction of a bullet wound. It was worthy of being in a being medical book; it was…

"Here… ah, I don't know your name?"

Light's heartbeat prevented him from speaking for a moment, and when he did, the sound was gritty to his own ears, tainted _Light_, but surely he had imagined it. There was a tennis racket in his hand now — fingers unwarmed by the sun had brushed his wrist, breath had cut his skin without leaving any visible wounds — and the absolute black of Near's eyes had been boring into his the whole time. This feeling was a shade graver in hue than déjà vu.

Each footstep Light took toward the tennis court was perfused with the oddity of knowing that he was both being led and being followed, despite the fact that he walked side by side with Lawliet; with an uncertainty as much as a sense of purpose. He didn't quite know what he was getting into with this man, with this entire institution, but nor did Lawliet know what he was getting into with him.

He had once been known as Raito Yagami, junior high school tennis champion, after all.

"Play to six?"

"No problem."

The exchange passed between them without a glance, fast and somehow tense beneath the affectation of forgiveness. They took their ordained places at opposite ends of the spectrum. In one form or another, they were exchanging backhands long before Lawliet made that first aerodynamic explosion of tennis ball against asphalt, before _he who strikes first wins _was carried coolly along the breeze.

Light won the tennis match, but he had to work for it, and it only felt like a minute victory in some greater scheme. This was undeniable evidence that he faced a dangerous man in Lawliet… and worse yet, that Lawliet was _already in his head_.

It was only to be expected, then, that Lawliet used their _good game_ handshake as an opportunity to captivate him with the jewelry of handcuffs and handgun. For people like them, pleasantries were only verbal stitches, not necessarily pleasant in nature and readily removed from the equation; but nor did premonition equate to prevention. The bullet wound was inerasably painted on Near's canvas, the gunshot sound of tennis balls hitting the hard court had already come and gone, and now the only question left was whether or not the murder would play out in real time.

Light wasn't surprised, but he was terrified.

"I have taken Light hostage. In exchange for his safety, I demand Mello's chocolate stash — ah, also, Matt's pornography. Contact me at 314-1592 when my ransom is ready… damn it." The announcement was overloud but lacking in anger, and the curse was just plain awkward, an obviously insincere afterthought.

This was all staged, then, a _game_.

If that were the case, Light would play.

"You're hurting me," he complained, partially for the sake of sympathy, almost truthfully, but the only response he received was enhanced brutality as Lawliet shoved him inside the main building and barred the doors behind them.

Then, they were staring at each other, a deadly electrical pulse between them. It was Light who short-circuited the gaze, glancing rather blatantly at the weapon Lawliet so carelessly gripped with only his fingertips. The revolver swung back and forth like a pendulum, and real or fake, Light couldn't say, but this situation was loaded either way.

"Where would you like to go?" Lawliet asked, seemingly triggered by the fact that Light was eyeing his weapon. "I can take you anywhere in the school."

"Why would you give your prisoner such a privilege? It's illogical." Arguing against his own case, though a bit of a gamble, garnered him more time to consider his options. If Lawliet really would take him anywhere in the school, he could either choose somewhere that he knew would disadvantage Lawliet as the kidnapper, somewhere that would advantage Lawliet in an offer of goodwill, or he could simply use this as an opportunity to further explore the building…

"I can revoke the privilege, if that is what you wish." Lawliet's facial features were stoic, bored even, but the gun swung faster and faster, giving Light the sense that he was under time pressure.

"I want to go to the bell tower."

"Oh?" Lawliet didn't conceal the question mark curling such a short sound into an insult.

Light didn't explain himself beyond a mute nod of confirmation.

Silence panned out until Lawliet ceded, "I suppose I have no objections…" and there came the crispness of footfalls and accelerated breaths both in consonance and dissonance, some senseless two-man footrace without any spectators as they wound through the abandoned halls of Wammy's House.

They had just completed the first coil of the bell tower's sunlight and shadow speckled staircase when Light's ring tone chimed in place of the bells. His hand reached for his pocket but fell short of his destination, chains snapping taught behind his back and simultaneously snapping him out of his flashback. He didn't have a cell phone anymore.

"Please hold, Light." Lawliet spoke as though they were conversing from two disparate worlds rather than standing side by side, giving a hand gesture more reminiscent of a dismissal than an order to halt as his other hand retrieved a cell phone from the depths of his jeans pocket. The bleating device, strung up by forefinger and thumb, was inspected with the air of one about to put something out of its misery before Lawliet finally snapped it open and held the receiver to his ear.

"Thirty seconds," Lawliet answered drably. "Twenty… ten… zero." The phone was promptly shut and returned to storage. Light gave him a look until an explanation was offered. "Matt is excellent with electronics. He may have pinpointed our location just from that."

"I see…"

Progress was made to halfway up the stairwell before Lawliet suddenly crouched down, as if he had spotted something interesting on the ground, but after a few uneventful moments it became evident that they were taking up residence.

"We're not going all the way?" The irritation Light had been struggling to suppress all day was put under even further strain when Lawliet smiled at him for no apparent reason.

"If you beg, perhaps."

Fueled by the mental image of Lawliet rolling down the stairs like a tumbleweed, Light laughed rather than actually attacking him.

"I think you're taking this game a bit too seriously." Light was acting so amicable that he had perhaps crossed the hairline between credible and condescending.

"Who said this was a game?" Lawliet aimed the gun at Light's head and pulled the trigger, as factually as that — no time to react — "Bang."

When Light turned his back to Lawliet in an intentionally rude gesture, a grimace tainting his features, it was clear that something had been cracked by that flat lack of a bullet _bang_ shot his way. "…That's not funny."

"_Exactly._" So emphatically spoken that Lawliet seemed to know the world's secrets; but of course he couldn't know.

A myriad of fine-grained comebacks and low blows alike twitched at Light's lips, though in the end he let his silence speak for him, building up the tension between them like a held back breath until he chose the opportune moment to release it. Angling his face so that it was bathed in his namesake, Light gave Lawliet a hard-boiled look. "Unlock these handcuffs, please."

There was a split second, between Lawliet raising his hand from his knee and biting his thumb, in which Light honestly expected the key to be retrieved, because dealing with people had always been that easy, because he'd always gotten everything he wanted and needed.

…Not this man, apparently.

"Stubborn, juvenile, manipulative… a liar…" Lawliet murmured. The list would have continued if Light hadn't cut in with an indignant sound somewhere between a sigh and a hiss. 'Liar', the very same insult Mello had assaulted him with, wounded deeper from Lawliet's lips even without the gimmick of a megaphone tone or spectators.

"Just what are you accusing me of?"

"Murder."

The noiselessness that followed was not quite that; it was scorching breathing heat between Light's gritted teeth, words slowly leaked, "I don't know what you're implying, but…"

Effortlessly, Lawliet headed him off, "I think you do, _Raito Yagami_."

"You're wrong about me," Light said equally firm in his footing, equally effortlessly, equally, though he was affected in every sense of the word. "I am Light."

Denial of self

Complemented by

The darkest tone, an unwhispered secret, "I'm never wrong. I am L."

* * *

"I'm never wrong. I am L," he attested, only to have his suspect stomp down on each and every expectation as he stormed away with his arms still bound behind his back. L's cell phone was ringing again, but he ignored it, staring blankly forward until Light was imperceptible to his senses and that familiar feeling of isolation spread through the atmosphere, stinging ice being sucked into his lungs but primarily a numbing force. When L snatched his cell phone out of his pocket and hurled it at the wall, effectively silencing _the bells_, it wasn't in a rage, it wasn't a mistake; it was a visual effect for the theatre stage. The second wave of his audience arrived right on time, a set of booted footsteps clapping ever louder from the top of the tower until Mello and Matt came into sight.

"What happened, Lawliet?" Mello sounded genuinely concerned, but only because he was asking if Near had gotten there first, and though Matt had stooped down to repair the mangled cell phone, it was an act of idle amusement rather than charity.

People were predictable, reducible to core values and percentages of this or that. Life itself was based on the golden ratio, supremely formulaic, and L, as the world's greatest detective, would determine where his suspect fit into that equation and solve this case — even if it meant forcing the factors.

"Light and I had a… disagreement, so to speak, culminating in Light attacking me."

"_What?_" Intrigue, not disbelief, choked Mello's voice, and Matt would follow his friend where it mattered most.

Indeed, L's plan was going perfectly. The only difficulty, really, was maintaining a melancholic expression when he was thinking about his impending victory.

"Mello, Matt, may I ask a favor of you?"

* * *

Realizing that he had been brought to Wammy's House as a murder suspect rather than a student was the worst humiliation of Light's life.

More accurately, it was the first humiliation of his life, until he tripped directly outside the bell tower and fell helplessly to the floor, unable to use his hands to support himself.

More accurately, Light had been tripped. He propped himself up by the shoulder and glared at Near, who sat with one leg to his chest and the other sprawled across the doorway, and seeing as a period of five seconds had passed without apology, Light accused, "You did that on purpose!"

The provocation had little to no effect on his intended target, but Linda made a busybody of herself, stepping in-between them and soothing, "Calm down—"

"Shut up," Light hissed, eliciting a gasp from Linda, in tandem the sound of their tentative fellowship ripping. It was of no consequence to him. Kissing and making up would be exactly that effortless, a stroke of his lips over her skin… if he ever saw her again, that is.

Rising to his feet, Light was about to leave when he spotted Napé standing off to the side. Coldly, a bit slowly, "May I borrow a hairpin?"

She glanced at her companions, approval-seeking, before retrieving a sliver of glinting gold from amongst her curls and holding it out to him. As soon as he took a step toward her, however, the pin dropped, drawing a line between them on the floor.

…Bitch.

With as much dignity as such a situation allowed, with all the fury, Light lowered himself to the floor and, using the hairpin as his key, picked the lock on the handcuffs in under a minute.

"You would make a first-rate criminal," Near noted.

Light paused, staring back into those _eyes_, so inklike, so alive-unalive; L-Lawliet and Near, at least in that respect, were eerily alike. Condescendingly, he smiled. "I would, wouldn't I?"

* * *

**A/N:** Mwahaha. To be continued.

Additional info...

L is 24.

Italicized lines during the tennis match were adapted from the manga/anime. "I'm already in your head," has to be my favorite Death Note quote... aside from, "I'll take a potato chip... AND EAT IT!" of course. XD


End file.
